


The Domestic Life

by javajunkie



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Romantic Angst, Romantic Comedy, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-10-02
Packaged: 2018-02-19 01:11:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2368853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/javajunkie/pseuds/javajunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the events of the finale, Oliver, homeless and jobless, asks to move in with Felicity temporarily.  What could possible go wrong?  A lot.  Post-finale Olicity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

If someone had told Felicity six months ago that Oliver Queen would be living with her, she would have laughed in their face, making some joke about how the only way that would happen was in some weird Twilight Zone turn of events, and since she hadn't been spotting little green men running around, odds were pretty low Oliver Queen would be anywhere near her apartment. But then Isabel Rochev happened and the Queen family's fortune was drained. The Queen mansion was seized by the government and she watched her formerly flush boss meander the treacherous waters of the lower class.

He'd had the decency to ask Diggle first. She'd been there for the conversation, dutifully working on the computer as she pretended not to eavesdrop. Oliver had said something along the lines of how Diggle was a brother to him and when tough times happened brothers help each other out. Six months ago, that would have worked fine. But now there was Lyla and a little Diggle on the way. Diggle told him that he _wanted_ to helped him, but he had a family now. He had to look after them first. So, Oliver had put on a strong face, saying that he understood and he wished nothing but the best for Diggle and his expanding family.

That was when he glanced over at Felicity and she pointedly ignored his gaze, despite her cheeks flushing of their own accord. He wouldn't ask her. That would just be ridiculous after all the things that happened – or not happened, depending on who you asked – over the past few weeks. Surely, he had other options. The Lances had become more than partial to him as of late, but then she remembered they were dealing with an ailing Quentin, who was recovering from major surgery to correct the internal damage he'd sustained during the battle. Then she thought of Walter, but he'd moved back to England.

By the time Oliver sheepishly showed up at her door Felicity had all but resolved herself to the fact that she might just be the only person in Starling City who could take in the Queen stray.

"It'll only be a few weeks," Oliver had promised. "Just until I get a job and then I'll find my own place."

So, she'd stepped aside and let him into her apartment for the first of what would be many times. In the end, she couldn't say no to him – not when it really mattered. She'd pointed to the couch and said, "Say hello to your new home. It's not the most comfortable couch. The few times I've fallen asleep on it I always get a crick in my neck. But, you know, it's sleep-able."

He'd smiled a bit and told her, "This couch looks great."

And just like that, Felicity Smoak had a new roommate.

 

* * *

 

Diggle was more than amused when he heard about their new living arrangement. They were at their new foundry, discussing the next big bad there was for them to take down when Oliver had casually joked that they could take on the clomp-er who lived above Felicity.

"Hold on," Diggle said, glancing between them. "Are you two living together?"

"Not really," Felicity said curtly. "He's crashing on my couch."

"Temporarily," Oliver interjected. "It's just until I get a job lined up. Until then, I'm sort of…monetarily challenged."

"Is that how formerly rich people say poor?" Felicity asked, tilting her head to the side.

"So, what's it like?"

"What's _what_ like?" Oliver asked, leaning against a table.

"Living together," Diggle pressed. "Is it going well?"

"Again, we're not _living_ together," Felicity clarified. "Oliver is crashing on my couch. There is a distinct difference between the two."

"That difference being?" Diggle asked leadingly.

Felicity frowned, turning her attention back to the computer. In her mind there was a big difference. Living together connoted the sort of relationship that her and Oliver didn't have; one that, given recent events, she'd found herself thinking about more and more, which wasn't helped in the least by him being on her couch. Him being on her couch meant that her usual Oliver-free-hours were now _full_ of Oliver. He was watching TV with her. He was making them scrambled eggs – the only thing in the kitchen he had any idea how to do. He was everywhere, and it while it wasn't exactly unpleasant, she did find herself missing the moments of respite she had when her abode was primarily hers. So, no, they weren't living together. He was crashing.

"It's going fine," Oliver filled in after her prolonged silence.

"Well, she hasn't put one of your arrows in you yet," Diggle said. "So, that's a definite positive."

Oliver smirked. "That is very true."

"Don't think I haven't thought about it," Felicity chimed in. "I swear he has some metaphysical aversion to putting his dirty dishes in the dishwasher."

In just the few days her and Oliver had been living together, she'd seen that he was definitely not accustomed to life without a maid. And she'd told him, in no uncertain terms, that she would not be donning the apron for him.

"I put my cereal bowl in the dishwasher this morning," Oliver returned.

She smiled tightly and returned, "Yes, congratulations. You managed to get _one_ bowl in the dishwasher."

Diggle smirked, glancing between the two as they argued lightly. After a moment they realized that he was watching them and they fell silent, Felicity flushing as Oliver cleared his throat.

"Yeah," Diggle murmured, smirk blossoming into a full grin. "This is going to be fun. So, how's the job search going, Oliver?"

"Not well," Oliver admitted. "Not many business are hiring right now, and apparently, being a former CEO of a fortune 500 company scares off most other employers."

"Employers don't like people who are overqualified," Diggle said, shaking his head. "It makes them feel inadequate."

"If only they knew just how unqualified you were for the CEO position," Felicity piped in. "Hey, maybe you could put that as a sort of addendum in your resume."

Diggle snorted and Oliver retorted, "Thank you for the suggestion, Felicity. But, I think I'll leave that off my resume."

She raised her hands in front of her and said, "Just trying to help."

"It's a shame that Detective Lance doesn't know you're the Arrow," Diggle said. "Maybe he could have gotten you something in law enforcement."

"That's the thing, I _am_ doing law enforcement. This? What we do? This is a job."

"But it's sort of hard to get paid when you're an anonymous vigilante," Felicity murmured. She understood where Oliver was coming from, though. Being the vigilante was a full time job, and it was a shame he didn't get any credit for it. That was what he had chosen, though, and he had to live with that choice.

"You'll find something, Oliver," Diggle assured him. "It might just take you some time."

 

* * *

 

Oliver and Felicity drove to her apartment from the foundry, Oliver characteristically quiet as they weaved their way through the city. She thought of the conversation they'd been having with Diggle, the part about him finding a job, and she murmured, "You will find something, you know."

"Find what?"

"A job," she said. "It's out there. You just need to be patient."

"I know," he said. "But, _what_ will I find. Sometimes I think I'm going to end up flipping burgers at Big Belly."

"Diggle and I wouldn't mind that. I bet you'd get a great employee discount."

He laughed, shaking his head. "I don't know if they'd let you use that discount for friends."

"I'm sure we could slip it past them," Felicity said, glancing toward him. "You do have a track record for pulling stuff like that off."

"I just want to find something so I can get out of your hair," he said. "I know it must not be easy having me around all the time."

She pressed her lips together, eyes trained on the road in front of her. She didn't know if he was referring to what had happened back at the Queen mansion, which felt like years ago at this point, or maybe just the fact that she didn't have any time to herself anymore. After a moment she said, "It's not too bad. Besides the dishes thing, you're not a half bad roommate."

"I'm not?" he asked, grin evident in his voice.

She let out a breath she hadn't been aware she was holding. They were joking again. This was territory she was comfortable with.

"You don't snore," she said. "You pick up milk when we're out. And you don't hog the TV."

"I like how not hogging the TV is part of your good roommate criteria."

"I've seen many friendships ruined by greedy TV watching," she told him, grinning slightly. "But, really, you can stay as long as you need."

"I'll get my own place as soon as I can," he promised. "Then you'll finally be rid of me."

She knew he was joking, but as she glanced over at him, her gaze lingering on his profile, she though to herself that she would never truly be rid of Oliver Queen. Not in a million years.

 


	2. Chapter Two

Felicity and Oliver sat side by side on the couch, flipping through the Sunday sales paper with individual pairs of scissors. A stack of coupons rested on the coffee table, Felicity's stack remarkably tidy in comparison to Oliver's.

"Do you eat Raisin Bran?" he asked, pointing at a coupon with the tip of his scissors.

"No," she said. "Cut it out, anyway. Maybe I'll change my mind before it expires."

Felicity contently flipped through the sales paper, lingering on a coupon here and there and then continuing to flip.

"Do you really do this every Sunday?" he asked.

"Yeah. A dollar here and there really adds up."

"It just seems like a lot of work. A lot of cutting."

She cast him a bemused look and said, "I hate to break it to you, Oliver, but this is how the other half lives. You better get used to it."

It had been two weeks of "getting used to it" for Oliver. He knew he had no real right to complain. For more than twenty years he lived a life of absolute luxury, but still it was an adjustment. He came to see just how much he didn't know how to do for himself. But he had Felicity. She was there to help him along the way - with a healthy dose of ribbing, of course. She found it unfailingly amusing to watch him struggle with the everyday tasks of a normal life.

"Why don't you just use the QR codes on these," Oliver asked, showing her the scanning code on most of the coupons. "You could just scan them and have them on your phone. No cutting."

"You are really against cutting," she noted.

"My hand is cramping," he joked.

"Seriously? Your hand is cramping?" she asked incredulously.

"I'm just saying, for someone who is all about technology, I'm surprised you aren't using it."

Felicity shrugged, cutting out a coupon for two for one detergent.

"I guess I just like the routine of it all. I find it calming. My mom and I used to do it when I was growing up. It didn't matter how late she got back the night before, or that morning, we'd always sit together on Sunday afternoons and cut out our coupons for the week."

Oliver immediately felt guilt settle for making fun of her coupon cutting routine. She didn't share stories about her past often, and when she did it was usually more as an aside than an actual story. But here she was actually sharing with him, letting him get a glimpse – albeit a small one – into her childhood.

"Do you miss her ever?" he asked gingerly.

"My mom?" she asked, glancing over at him.

"Yeah, your mom."

"Of course I do," she said immediately. She thought of Moira and how he had a mother he missed, too. But of course, it was different for him. Moira was gone forever. But, in a way, so was her mother.

"You know, if you ever wanted to go to Las Vegas and visit with her or something…Digg and I could get along for a few days without you."

"Somehow I highly doubt that," she told him.

He laughed. "We'd manage. Really, though. I know sometimes what we do feels like a full time job, but if you wanted a few days-"

"I don't," she interrupted, cutting roughly into the thin piece of newspaper. She cut the edge of her finger and swore under her breath. When she pulled her finger away from the newspaper blood had already begun to drip down her finger.

"Come on, you should wash that," Oliver said, already off the couch and halfway to the kitchen. She walked over to the sink and washed the cut with dish soap, wincing as the cut stung. When she turned away from the sink Oliver was already there with a dishtowel and a bandage. He took her hand in his and gently dried her finger. Felicity watched his face as he meticulously wrapped a bandage around the cut.

Both were silent, and after a moment she said, "I haven't spoken to my mom since I was nineteen. And I couldn't if I wanted to."

He had questions, but he held them back, feeling he had no right to ask them. She would tell him as much as she felt comfortable sharing. They settled back on the couch and she slowly began to tell him about her past, her tone sterile and detached.

"When I left for college she started dating this guy Mick. She told me he was a blackjack dealer at the casino she waitressed at. I found out later he was a meth dealer. My mom always had bad taste in men, but they usually just left and stole money from her wallet. Mick got her hooked on meth. The last time I heard from her she called asking for money. She told me that the casino was late paying her and she needed a little something extra for the electricity bill. I told her I'd send her some money, and that was the last thing I said to her. The next time I tried to call home I got that message that said the line was disconnected. Any letters I tried to send home were sent back to me. She disappeared."

"Did you ever go back and talk to the police?"

Felicity nodded, settling back into the couch. She'd never told anyone about all of this, and she found it somewhat liberating to do it now. For years she'd kept all of this – all of the turmoil – to herself, not wanting people to treat her differently if they knew. But if anyone would understand it would be Oliver. She didn't have to worry about scaring him off, or making him view her differently. He was someone she could trust unconditionally, and she didn't realize until that moment how comforting of a thing that was.

"I went back after I graduated. I found out she'd been arrested a few times for possession while I was away. But then there was nothing. They told me she probably skipped town, or that she had OD-ed somewhere."

Felicity fell silent and Oliver sensed they had reached the end of the story. He reached over and laid a hand on her knee, squeezing it gently.

"I'm really sorry."

"It's fine," she said, and if those words had been from anyone else he wouldn't have believed them. But he believed her. She had the uncanny ability to move on from things. He'd seen it countless times throughout their work together. She didn't dwell on things, and in that moment, with her on the couch, he saw just how well that personality trait had served her.

Oliver reached forward and grabbed his part of the sales paper and scissors again. He read over a coupon and asked, "So, what about Dawn dish detergent?"

She smiled a bit. They went from her sharing the undeniably tragic story of her mother right back to coupon clipping. This was precisely why Oliver was like no one else in her life.

"Clip it."

 

* * *

 

That night over dinner Felicity casually mentioned, "I'm hosting a birthday party here on Friday night and I just wanted to clear it with you before I go and send out the invites."

"A birthday party? For who?"

"My friend Lydia," Felicity said.

"Who's Lydia?" Oliver asked, taking a bite of chicken.

"I told you, she's my friend," Felicity returned sensibly. Oliver shrugged, cutting off another bite of chicken.

"I've never heard of her."

Felicity narrowed her eyes and said, "Believe it or not, Oliver, I do have a life outside of you and the Hood. Lydia's one of my friends from MIT. She's in town this week for some work deal, and I thought I'd throw her a little surprise party."

"I do believe you have a life outside of me and the Hood," Oliver told her slowly. "You just never talk about it."

The truth was, she didn't talk about it because that life was exceedingly small. Most of her spare time was spent in the foundry, and if she were being entirely honest, her time not spent with him in the foundry was spent _thinking_ about him and the foundry. But he didn't need to know that.

"I like to keep my two lives separate as best as I can," she said crisply. "Which, yes, I do realize runs completely counter to my letting you stay here for a bit. But, well, I'm just choosing to ignore that very minor point."

He smirked. "Fair enough. Anyway, you really don't have to clear apartment things with me. I mean, it's _your_ apartment."

"I know, but you're staying here, too, and I figure you should have a say. Besides, what if you had an interview Saturday morning or something?"

"Is this a new way for you to pry into my job search?" he asked wryly. "If it is, it's pretty transparent – even for you."

"No, it's not," she said quickly. "But, as long as we're on the subject…"

Oliver laughed, taking a sip of his water. "Smooth, Felicity."

"Have you found anything? You know, I circled some things in the paper for you yesterday. Have you had a chance to look at them yet?"

"I looked at them," he returned evasively.

"And?" she pressed. "Are you going to apply to any of them?"

"They're not really what I'm looking for."

"What are you looking for? Oliver, you really can't be picky right now. Just choose something. Besides, it's not like the job will be long-term. It's just until you're able to step up at Queen Consolidated again, right?"

Oliver nodded, frowning as he pushed the rest of his meal around his plate. Queen Consolidated's lawyers had talked to him a few days back, alerting him that with Isabel Rochev's passing the company was once again up for grabs. Oliver had hoped he would just be able to assume the role of CEO again, but there were some legal snags that required the board of directors to vote on it. Unfortunately, a large number had either left town or passed due to Slade's rampage, which left the board three members under quorum. Without quorum, no decision could be made and Oliver was left waiting.

"Just apply for something – _anything_ – at least it'll be a start," she said sensibly. "Because I think you're starting to put a dent in my couch, and I'd like to avoid a permanent one if possible."

He grinned. "Alright, I hear you. I will apply to some tomorrow."

She nodded succinctly, pushing her plate away from her. "Good."

 

* * *

 

Oliver stepped off the train, glancing down at the folded newspaper in his hand. There at the top was one of the jobs that Felicity had circled in bright red ink. One of the local dojos was looking for a martial arts instructor. He originally hadn't wanted to do anything that ran to similar to his Hood work, but he reasoned that if he was qualified for anything it was this. And besides, maybe it could double as his training on some days.

The dojo was a few blocks from the train station and he tried to figure out exactly how he would explain his training. He didn't actually go to classes. His style wasn't even one in particular. Yao Fei's method had been all his own. But Oliver knew he was good, and he'd taught Roy. He may have to alter his teaching style for the mainstream students, but he figured he could manage.

The dojo was small and on a side street that shot off of the main throughway. It looked old, paint peeling from the sign hanging over the door. He stepped inside, the strong scents of incense hitting his nose. When he glanced around he saw sticks of incense sticking up from several oblong vases around the perimeter of the room.

"Can I help you?" an older man asked, walking forward. He was wearing the traditional karate gi and his feet were bare.

"I'm here for the martial arts instructor position," Oliver said. He held up the newspaper as he added, "I read you're looking for someone."

"Yes, we are," he said, eyeing Oliver suspiciously. "What is your background?"

"It's a combination of wing chun, hapkido and jujitsu. I have extensive experience with hand to hand combat, as well as utilizing props like sticks, knives, anything really."

"That's quite a variety," the man noted, although Oliver could see that his stance had softened somewhat.

Oliver nodded. "Sometimes variety is necessary."

"Indeed," he said, nodding slowly. "Where did you train?"

"China," Oliver said, twisting the truth somewhat. "I spent some time there after college. I met a man there who taught me everything he knew."

"Did he? Well, let's see just how much you learned."

The man gestured for Oliver to follow him toward the mat and Oliver nodded, thinking that he would probably never have another job interview quite like this.

"No props," the man said, dropping into fighting stance. "Props are for weak men."

"Alright, no props" Oliver said, his muscles tensing. Things had been relatively quiet since Slade's attack, but his body still instinctually prepared itself for combat. He lightened his feet on the ground, his focus sharpening.

The man made the first move, coming toward Oliver surprisingly fast for a man of that age. Oliver easily sidestepped his advance, sending his own punch that the man dodged. They were evenly matched, something that surprised the man. Oliver watched him increasingly heighten the intricacy of his movements.

Oliver had forgotten what it was like to spar with someone who had been trained in the art. Diggle was a phenomenal fighter, but his military training made sparring with him rougher. The movements were punctuated, staccato rather than smooth and lyrical. This fight was different. There was a rhythm to the fight, both of them seemingly keeping time with the same internal metronome as they fought.

The man turned into a roundhouse kick and Oliver ducked under it and grabbed a hold of his leg, spinning him onto the ground. He loomed above him, arms at the ready. He expected him to spring back up, but instead the man laughed, propping himself up on his forearms.

"This trainer in China taught you well," he said, breath labored.

"Thank you," Oliver said, reaching a hand down to help him up. The man ignored the hand, lithely rising to his feet.

"My name is Feng Cui," the man said, wiping his hand on his pants before extending it toward Oliver. "Welcome to my dojo."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Review! Review! Review!
> 
> New chapter will be posted TOMORROW.


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Oliver could hardly wait to tell Felicity the news. With her normal 9-5 job, though, he had to wait a good while and busied himself with tidying up the apartment. He vacuumed the entire apartment and then found some Windex under the kitchen sink and wiped down the glass top of her coffee table. He was attending to the screen of her TV with a Swiffer sheet when Felicity walked in, arms laden with groceries. He went over to help her, taking the majority of the bags while she kicked the door closed with her foot. She glanced around the apartment and after a moment said, "Hold on, did you _clean_?"

He nodded happily. "Yeah, I had a lot of energy to work off so I figured I'd do something productive with it."

She stared at him. "Who are you?"

He laughed, setting the bags on the kitchen table. "I'm someone who is very grateful to you for letting me crash for a few weeks. And, I am also someone who is currently employed."

Felicity grinned wide, dropping the remaining grocery bag on the floor and flinging herself toward him, arms wrapped tightly around his neck. He laughed and murmured, "I hope there was nothing glass in that bag."

"It's just bread," she said dismissively. Pulling back to see his face she began to fire off questions. "Wait, you got a job? What is it? Where is it? Tell me everything!"

"It's one of the ones you circled," he told her, turning toward the kitchen table and beginning to unpack the groceries.

"Big Belly Burger manager?" she asked with a grin, following him. "That was Digg's favorite option, by the way."

"I'm sure it was," Oliver returned, shaking his head. For someone as fit as John Diggle, the man did have a larger than normal affinity for those burgers. "I actually went with the martial arts instructor."

Felicity's hands stilled on a box of cereal, her eyes widening with surprise. She hadn't actually known if she should circle that one. She thought it might have been too close to what he really did, but she figured that he couldn't fault her for options. She told him this and he nodded in agreement.

"I thought the same thing," he admitted. "But, everything else felt…pointless. At least here I'll be teaching kids things."

"Who would have thought you'd be so civic minded," Felicity teased gently. She laid a hand on his arm. "I really am happy for you, though. You deserve something good after everything that happened."

"Thank you," he said. She moved her hand from her arm and he caught it with his own, giving it a small squeeze. "Thank you for everything. What you've done for me the past few weeks…"

"It's nothing you wouldn't do for me," she told him softly. "So, what was the interview like?"

"Strange," Oliver said, picking up the packages of cheese and lunchmeat and bringing them over to the refrigerator. "We sparred."

"Hm, okay. Well, I guess that's not _that_ strange. You were interviewing for a martial arts position. How was he?"

"Good," Oliver said, mind drifting back to the dojo. "He sort of reminded me of Yao Fei, actually."

Felicity had been placing apples into the fruit bowl at the center of the kitchen table and glanced up at him. He didn't mention Yao Fei often, and she always felt a certain special connection with Oliver when he gave her glimpses into that part of his life.

"How so?"

"I don't know," Oliver said, closing the refrigerator door. "It was a…feeling. He doesn't look like him or sound like him. But he still reminded me so much of him."

"Sometimes people are just familiar. There's no rhyme or reason, it's just there."

He nodded. "Yeah, I guess. Anyway, I start tomorrow. He said I'll do individual lessons first before I move on to group. I think he's not entirely confident in my teaching skills yet."

Felicity smirked. "Can you blame him? You've only technically taught one person."

Oliver laughed, shrugging. "I guess you're right. Anyway, I'm really excited. Even though it's only temporary, it just feels right."

"Have you heard anything else about Queen Consolidated?" she asked, raising up on her tip toes to put the boxes of cereal up on the top of the refrigerator. When he saw she didn't quite reach in the shoes she was wearing he went over and took the boxes from her, easily plopping them on top of the refrigerator.

"They're still working on finding people for the board of directors," he said. "Apparently, Isabel Rochev's prior involvement with the company left a bad taste in many investors' mouths. People are avoiding the company like it's the plague."

"Maybe you should put out some statement or something?"

"Like what? I let my family's company be taken from me, but guys, I promise I'll do better next time?"

"That's not what happened and you know it."

"I know," he sighed.

"Good," she said succinctly. "Now, can you put these pretzels up on the refrigerator?"

He grinned slightly, taking the box of sourdough pretzels from her hand. "Yes. That I can do."

* * *

 

That night Felicity and Oliver sat on the couch watching Chopped, a large knit blanket covering their laps. Both of them were amused by how high stakes everyone appeared to think the game was, and how the judges seemed to find things like a bone left in a fish or undercooked chicken to be apocalyptic in nature. On screen, Aaron Sanchez found a burnt piece of garlic in his plate and the music came to a dark crescendo.

"If someone only heard the soundtrack from this show, they'd think they were watching a really serious action movie."

Felicity laughed. "You're so right."

"Like, was that music really necessary for a burnt piece of garlic? I'd expect a dead person or a burning building with that music before I'd think burnt garlic."

"We don't cook," she pointed out. "Maybe we don't understand just how terrible burnt garlic is for a dish."

Oliver gave her a look and murmured, "They'll survive. Anyway, what time is this party again tomorrow? I have some stuff to do at the dojo and I want to make sure I'm back in time."

"Seven," she told him. "Which, in Lydia time, means seven thirty."

He laughed. "Alright, well I should definitely be back by then. He's just having me observe a few classes."

"About the party," Felicity began leadingly. "I probably should warn you about Lydia. She's a little…well…she's Lydia. That will make more sense when you meet her."

"Okay," he said slowly.

"She's going to take the fact that we're living together and assume things, even after you and I repeatedly and vehemently deny those things."

"It's fine," he said with a shrug. "It's not anything I haven't dealt with before."

She turned toward him, giving him a look. "You don't mean with me, right?"

"No," he said quickly – too quickly. Felicity narrowed her eyes and demanded, "What are you not telling me?"

"It's nothing," he said dismissively. "It's just…"

"What?"

"When you were my assistant back at Queen Consolidated some people might have sort of thought-"

"No," she breathed out, eyes widening. "They thought we were together?"

"Something like that," Oliver said evasively. Felicity's mouth dropped open.

 _"_ They thought we were _sleeping_ together?"

"A lot of people think things that aren't true," he tried, but Felicity was having none of it.

"Yeah, but those things probably don't include me sans underwear. You told them they were wrong, right? That _nothing_ is going on between us?"

"Of course I did. Why are you getting upset? It's just rumors."

Felicity flushed, turning back toward the television and pressing her back into the couch.

"I'm not upset," she said, lying unsuccessfully. She could never tell him this, but she'd always thought she'd done a pretty good job of hiding her attraction to him at work. She tried to keep things professional, gaze held firmly above his neck and nervous rambling cut down to the bare minimum. But apparently, she hadn't been as good at all of that as she thought.

"If it makes you feel any better, they probably would have thought I was sleeping with anyone who was my assistant."

She laughed humorlessly and told him, "Wow, thanks. That makes me feel really special."

"What? I'm trying to tell you it's not because of anything we did. It's because of how people perceive me. They think I'm still the old Oliver Queen – the one who slept with anything that has breasts."

Before she could stop herself she murmured, "That sounds a lot like the current you."

He gave her a look and she said, "Okay, I'm sorry, that was a little mean. But, you _did_ sleep with Isabel. And Helena. Both of whom were batshit crazy."

Oliver frowned. "I'll admit those weren't my brightest moments."

"Anyway, I just wanted to warn you about Lydia. She can be a bit much if you don't know to anticipate it."

"Well, thank you. I think I'll survive, though. She can't be that bad. I have Thea, remember? No one can pry more than my sister."

Felicity kept quiet, thinking that his statement was patently wrong. There was someone who could pry more than Thea, and her name was Lydia Hathaway. Oliver had no idea what he was staged to face in twenty four hours.

 

* * *

 

Felicity spent all day at work on Friday worrying about the party, and then all of the time after work kibitzing around the apartment, needlessly cleaning every nook and cranny of her apartment that she had already cleaned the day before. She felt her nerves mount as the clock ticked toward six thirty when she had told people to show up. Felicity heard a key turning at the front door and Oliver stepped in, tossing his bag on the couch.

"You're not going to leave that there, are you?" she asked him. "Because people probably will want to sit on the couch."

"Sorry, habit," he said, moving back and picking up the bag. He put it in the front closet, glancing around the apartment after he shut the closet doors.

"This place looks even cleaner," he noted. "Did you clean _again_?"

"I clean when I'm nervous," she returned.

"Why are you nervous?" he asked. "It's a party. What's there to be nervous about? You buy some chips and dip. Beer. Maybe a bottle of wine or two. Bam, you have a party."

"First off, that sounds like the worst party in existence," she told him. "And, um, I'm sort of regretting the whole surprise aspect of the party. Because, you see, Lydia _hates_ surprises, but I thought it would be fun. Especially because she really wouldn't expect to have a party here. The ultimate surprise party, see? But, the more I think about it, she _really_ doesn't like surprises, and this party basically is a complete disaster."

"You do realize you're overreacting, right?"

"Yes," she said loudly, laying the back of her hand on her forehead. She could already feel the thin layer of perspiration there. "But I can't stop it. I start getting nervous and then it all sort of snowballs."

"Hey, come here," he said, taking a hold of her arm and tugging her toward him. He placed his hands on the curve of her upper arms and told her, "Tonight is going to be great. You have nothing to be worried about, okay?"

She nodded, glancing down at his terrycloth zip-up hoodie and sweatpants. "You're changing, right?"

"Yes, I am."

"Good, go do that before people get here."

"Okay," he said, drawing out the word. "But, please try to calm down. You're giving me second hand stress."

"Great, now I'm going to be anxious about that!" she shot back at him as he padded into her bedroom. A week or so back she'd given him part of her closet so that he wasn't living out of a suitcase. It had been a minor sacrifice on her part, but it also meant that her living room actually looked like a living room now and not a hostel. Oliver hadn't been the best at keeping his stuff in the suitcase and she was tired of walking in on a mess every day after work.

Oliver changed quickly, walking out in a pair of dark wash jeans and a slightly wrinkled – but acceptable – blue button-up. He grabbed a beer off the counter and twisted the cap off. As he raised it to his mouth Felicity grabbed it, taking a long pull from the bottle. Oliver smirked, reaching over and grabbing another for himself.

 

* * *

 

People filtered in a little after six thirty, and by seven fifteen the apartment was filled. Felicity had called up her friends around Starling, and then had even gotten a few friends from out of town to come to Starling for the party. Her friends Taylor and Sadie were there, starting off what they called their last girl's weekend before Taylor got married and became a boring married lady.

"You're a brave woman to surprise Lydia Hathaway," Taylor noted. "Remember when we threw her that surprise birthday party in college? She accidently hit that guy she was dating and gave him a bloody nose."

"I remember that," Sadie said, laughing. "You know, they dated for a good three or four months after that."

"It'll be fine. Lydia loves parties," Felicity said.

Taylor snorted, taking a sip of her beer. "Whatever you say, Felicity."

Taylor glanced over at Oliver, eyes following him as he walked across the apartment. "So, what's up with your roommate?"

"Oliver?" Felicity asked.

"No, your _other_ roommate. Of course I mean Oliver."

"You know he's a really good co-host," Sadie said. "He's been checking on everyone's drinks and I've never seen the pretzel bowls run low."

"He's just a friend," Felicity said with a shrug. "He ran into some tough times, so I let him stay with me."

"He's a Queen though, right?" Taylor pressed. "Aren't they millionaires or something?"

"Billionaires," Felicity corrected. "But most of the money really isn't liquid. The company had some problems and the government seized the house. He had nowhere else to go."

"Well, I think it's nice of you," Sadie said. "Opening your house up to him and everything."

"He's done a lot for me over the years," Felicity said, thinking to herself just how true that statement was – beyond what they could understand. "I was happy to repay the favor."

"Okay, so, let's get to the real question here," Taylor said. "Are you sleeping together?"

Before Felicity could answer someone beside the window said, "She's here! Lydia's here, I see her car!"

"Okay, everyone quiet now. She should be here soon."

Some hid behind furniture while others simply stepped to the side, quietly sipping their drinks as Felicity walked to the door and put her ear to it, waiting for Lydia. When she heard someone walking down the hallway she sprang back, turning excitedly to the group with a thumbs up and cheeky smile.

Silence settled on the group and there wasn't even a rustle when a knock sounded in the room. Felicity took a deep breath before opening the door a sliver. Lydia stood there with her bright orange shift dress and too-big-sunglasses perched on top of her head. It had been too long since Felicity had seen her friend, and it took everything in her not to shriek and hug her right there.

"Why are you peaking your head out?" Lydia asked, eyes narrowed suspiciously. Felicity reached out and grabbed Lydia's arm.

"Please don't be mad," Felicity began. "But…"

She pushed the door open wider, pulling Lydia into the apartment. Over the deafening yell of surprise from the group she said, "I couldn't let you leave without a birthday party."

Lydia did not react as strongly as she did back in college but a string of expletives still left her mouth. She grasped Felicity's arm tightly and said, "I should have known you would do something like this."

"Do you like it?" Felicity asked, a tense smile pulling on her mouth. Lydia rolled her eyes and pulled her friend in for a hug.

"Of course I do, you idiot. An entire party about me? I love it."

Felicity laughed and kissed her cheek. "Well, I'm glad. Happy birthday."

"I'm guessing you're the woman of the hour," Oliver said smoothly, stepping beside Felicity. He extended a hand and Lydia paid Felicity a questioning glance before shaking his hand and saying, "I don't remember Felicity having one of you."

He laughed. "I'm her roommate Oliver."

"Roommate," Lydia repeated, eyes sliding over to Felicity.

"It's temporary," Felicity threw in. "Just until he can find somewhere else."

"Felicity's been very accommodating," Oliver added.

Lydia smirked, cocking her hip to the side. "I'm sure she has."

Felicity felt her cheeks redden and she stammered, "Alrighty, it looks you need a drink, Lydia. What can I get you?"

"I'll get it," Oliver interjected. "Let me guess – red wine."

Lydia nodded appreciatively. "You guessed right. That's impressive, Oliver the Roommate."

"I do own a club, after all," Oliver returned with a grin. "I know drinks. I'll be right back."

He walked off to the kitchen, Lydia's eyes following him the entire way. She tilted her head to the side and said, "Please tell me you are getting with that."

"We're just friends," Felicity said firmly.

"Can I get with him?"

"You're married," Felicity dead panned.

Lydia frowned and murmured, "Oh right. Are you seriously telling me that you two are living here – alone in this big place – and you're not even hooking up? You know, nighttime snuggles. Maybe a little morning nookie?"

"Stop it," Felicity droned.

"What? A little something in the morning can set the tone for the rest of your day."

Felicity winced. "Please stop talking."

"Fine, so if you're not screwing Oliver, are you at least screwing someone else? Because there is way too much good stuff happening here – " she waved her hand in front of Felicity's face and then lower – " for there to be nothing happening here."

"Stop that," Felicity hissed, swatting Lydia's hand. "I told you I'm too busy for all of that."

"Ugh, this is depressing. Okay, you know what I want for my birthday?" Lydia began. "I want you to get laid."

"I think I'll pass."

Lydia entirely ignored Felicity's disinterest in the whole operation and said, "Let's see what we're working with."

She craned her neck as she glanced around the room. She spotted a guy in the back corner sizing up Felicity and said, "Hm, what do we have here?"

Felicity followed her gaze. "That's nothing. It's Mike. He's from my yoga class."

"You invited someone from your yoga class?" Lydia said, snorting.

"He asked what I was doing this weekend and it sort of slipped out," Felicity said. "I couldn't not invite him then. It would have been rude."

"No, it would have been what normal people do," Lydia said, slipping her arm around Felicity's shoulders. "But if you were normal, then you wouldn't be you."

Felicity gave her a look. "Gee, thanks."

"So, he's not bad. A little bean pole-y, but that's not a deal breaker. And if he does yoga you know he's flexible. Probably has pretty good stamina, too."

"I'm not sleeping with Mike from yoga."

"Well, you won't with an attitude like that," Lydia scoffed. "Just talk to him, please? For me?"

Felicity gaped at her. "You're not serious, are you?"

"It's my birthday," Lydia said with a ridiculous amount of solemnity. "And this, Felicity, is my birthday wish. So, go over there and start flipping your hair or something."

Felicity groaned, knowing that Lydia would be after her the entire night if she didn't do what she asked. The best thing she could do is go have a five minute conversation with Mike and call it a night.

"Fine, but I am not sleeping with him."

"Whatever," Lydia said flippantly. "That's how you feel now. Who knows how you'll feel a few hours and drinks later."

Felicity rolled her eyes, walking over to Mike. He grinned expectantly, giving her a largely unnecessary wave due to the size of the party. She steeled herself for a mind-numbing exchange.

Meanwhile, Oliver walked over to Lydia with her glass of red wine. Lydia took it happily and put half off it down with one hearty gulp.

"Where did Felicity go?" he asked.

"She's finding herself a partner for the horizontal mambo," Lydia said gleefully, pointing her glass toward the corner where Mike and Felicity talked. Oliver looked at her in confusion and she spelled out, "She's working on getting _laid_."

Oliver's eyes snapped to the pair, and before he could stop himself he blurted, "With him?"

Lydia sniggered. "Well, better him than no one."

"He doesn't look like her type."

Lydia smirked at the disapproval in his voice. "And what exactly is her type?"

"I don't know, I'd say a little more muscled. Lighter hair. Definitely not someone who would wear that shirt."

Lydia silently noted that Oliver seemed to be describing someone who was remarkably like himself, but kept that to herself. Thinking that she planted enough of a jealous seed, she patted Oliver on the shoulder and said, "Well, I should make the rounds. It was nice meeting you!"

 

* * *

 

Felicity could feel him watching her. First she thought that she was imagining things, but then he was watching her from the kitchen, and then from beside the couch, and by the fireplace. Wherever he was his eyes were squarely on her, and she didn't know what to make of it.

Even more surprising than Oliver's insistent gaze was that she was actually enjoying talking with Mike. Their conversations were all largely topical at yoga – mostly how-are-you and how-was-your-weekend, but untethered from the stiff banality of yoga small talk he was bitingly funny.

"I'm always sort of afraid I'm going to moon someone during downward facing dog," he said. "You know, you're up there and if your pants start creeping down…" he shook his head and took a pull off his beer, "…you're screwed."

She laughed. "Instead of plumber's crack it would be downward dog crack."

"Exactly!" he said. "That, right there, is my biggest fear."

"Well, I promise if I ever see things edging that way I'll serve as a distraction," she said. "I'll topple over or something."

"I would be eternally grateful."

"Well, us yoga-ers have to look out for each other."

He laughed. "Yoga-ers. Yeah, we do. So, um, I think this meeting outside of a yoga studio is working pretty well, wouldn't you say?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I would."

"Maybe we can try it again. Maybe at a restaurant or something?"

He said it so off-handedly that if she hadn't been listening carefully she would have missed that he was asking her out. But, she was listening carefully, and there it was bright and clear.

"I think we can do that."

 

* * *

 

The party wound down around one in the morning, everyone shuffling out with thanks to Felicity and Oliver, and well-wishes to Lydia who was staying the night. Once everyone had cleared out Oliver settled on the couch and Lydia walked out of the bathroom in the spare pair of pajamas that Felicity had given her. They were sharing a bed like they did back in college when they'd go on weekend benders and crash at one of their apartments.

"So, I saw you chatting with Mike. I was right, wasn't I?"

Felicity grinned, tucking her arm around her pillow. "We're having dinner later this week."

"Seriously?" Lydia asked excitedly, nearly shrieking when Felicity nodded. "Okay, real talk time, I never expected anything to come out of this. I just like throwing you at nonthreatening men. But, I have to say, I'm impressed."

"He's actually really nice," Felicity said. "I don't think I gave him enough credit from our minimal yoga interaction."

"I'm so happy for you," Lydia said with a wide grin. "You are so getting laid soon."

Felicity tossed her a slight grin and returned, "I just might."

Lydia climbed into bed, pulling the covers up and tucking them under her arms. She turned on her side and said, "By the way, Oliver totally doesn't like him."

"Wait, what?"

"I pointed him out earlier and he had quite a lot to say."

"Like what?"

"He just kept saying how he didn't think the guy was your type. Shit like that. All of it was a clear cover for the fact that has a thing for you."

"Don't be ridiculous," Felicity said, turning on her back and staring at her ceiling. "He doesn't have – " she lowered her voice, " _a thing for me_."

"I just call it like I see it, Felicity. The way he was acting tonight – and not just with the Mike situation - I mean him helping out so much with the party and being all around awesome, that's because of you."

"We're friends."

"Friends my ass," Lydia said. "Besides, he is way too hot for you two to just be friends."

"I thought you were all gunho for Mike and I? What happened to that?"

"Oh, I'm still excited for that. But who's to say you can only have one guy at a time?"

Felicity laughed. "You're the worst. You do know that, right?"

"Yes, I do," Lydia said. "And you love me for it."

Felicity smiled softly and reached over and grabbed Lydia's hand. She squeezed it gently and said, "Yeah, I do. Happy birthday, Lydia."


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick reminder - I am posting the chapters from FF.net on here. So, you may have read this before. I am Spykid18 over there.

Chapter Four

Oliver wasn't a jealous person. It was one of the things Laurel used to get upset about before the island. They'd be out and some guy would hit on her, and she'd immediately look for some reaction - some flare of indignation or at least a possessive hand on the curve of her back. Of course, he never did anything. Maybe it was because he was already cheating on her and the possessive tug of monogamy was absent, but it seemed to be something deeper. It was as if he hadn't been built with the jealous switch.

Which made his ill feelings toward Felicity's yoga guy all the more puzzling. Maybe it was just a variant of irritation – Lydia had talked about him so much that weekend that he'd begun to visibly flinch whenever the guy's name was mentioned. But a nagging voice told him it was more than that. What that meant, well, he didn't have a clue.

The uncertainty of it all set him in a bad mood as he walked to work that morning, his gait swift as he tried to walk off the uncomfortable tightness in his chest. He turned quickly at the corner and walked into a woman in front of the dojo. She had been putting up flyers, several of which flitted down the street from the force of his impact.

"I am so sorry," he said, crouching down and helping her pick up the few loose flyers that hadn't made their escape down the street.

"It's okay," she murmured. Their hands knocked together and she looked up, wide green eyes meeting his. She looked away quickly, her cheeks flushing.

"I should have been watching where I was going," Oliver said. He glanced down at one of the flyers in his hand; a shabby cat with overgrown whiskers gazed up at him.

"Is he yours?" Oliver asked.

"She," the girl corrected. "And yeah, she's mine. Or was. I don't know. I'm holding out hope, but I live by a pretty busy street."

He nodded. "Well, I'll hope for the best."

"Thanks."

He went to leave when she quickly asked, "Do you work here?"

She was pointing at the dojo and he nodded. "How did you –"

"Your sweatshirt," she said with a slight grin, and he glanced down, chuckling when he saw the branded sweatshirt. He'd forgotten he put it on that morning.

"Are you an instructor, then?" she asked, rocking a bit on her heels.

"Yeah, I just started actually."

"Well, then, I won't want to make you late," she said, clutching the flyers to her chest. "I'm Carrie, by the way." She shifted the flyers to one hand and held out the other. "It was nice knocking into you."

He chuckled. "Yeah, you too. And I'm Oliver. Oliver Queen."

Her eyes lit with recognition. "Have a nice day at work."

Oliver headed inside and walked to the back where employees kept their belongings. The beginners class he was observing started in about ten minutes, and by the time he got out, dressed in the proper gi, the small studio had filled. The instructor beckoned him over and explained that he and Oliver would be demonstrating a roundhouse kick.

Oliver set himself into position, back to the large window facing the street. He swore he could feel someone watching him, but when he glanced back the window was empty.

 

* * *

 

It had been three days since Felicity gave Mike her phone number, and they'd been texting furiously ever since. Felicity had never been a big texter, finding that phone calls better suited her proclivity for being rather verbose, but she enjoyed the texting with Mike. He was a witty texter, throwing in jokes and little asides at warp speed. He also texted in full sentences with proper punctuation – a big pluss for Felicity.

Lydia texted her nearly as much as Mike, asking if the date happened yet and how Oliver was handling it. She kept sending back that no, the date hadn't been set, and yes, Oliver was fine. That last part wasn't entirely truthful, but she didn't care to have the conversation that would follow if she chose the veracious path. Once Oliver found out that her constant texting buddy was ike, he looked like he bit into a lemon every time her phone buzzed. She was happy for the times he was at the dojo, because if she were being honest, his attitude was beginning to bother her.

After a marathon texting session of inside jokes and lazy humor, Felicity and Mike made plans for an actual date.

"Friday night at Capri," Felicity told Lydia.

"I love it already. Italian food is romantic as shit."

Felicity grinned. "It's weird. I'm actually excited."

"Why is it weird? You have a date. You should be excited."

"I know, it's just it's been a while since I've been excited, you know? It's nice."

"What are you wearing?"

Felicity laughed, loving how Lydia could go from somewhat serious conversation to clothes without even a hint of transition.

"I don't know yet."

"Don't wear pants – it gives off too much of a self-sufficient vibe. It'll knock the power balance way off. And no open-toed shoes, they make you look easy. And please, for the love of God, nothing with sequins."

"Why is that? The reflective surface suggests vanity?" Felicity teased.

"No. They're fucking ugly."

"I promise you I will not wear sequins."

"Good. Then this date has a fighting chance, provided your live-in doesn't do something stupid."

"He won't," Felicity said happily. "I purposely chose Friday because he's working late at the dojo."

"You really thought of everything," Lydia said appreciatively.

"I know."

"So, I expect a full recap the next morning. Provided you're not cooped up in yoga guy's bed. Then I will accept one in the afternoon."

"I'm not sleeping with him on the first date."

"And why the hell not?"

"Because…because I don't do that," Felicity sputtered, unable to come up with any better reason. But that was the truth. She didn't sleep with guys on the first date, just like how she avoided any talk of the "l" word until at least six months into a relationship. Early attachments didn't do anyone any good.

"Well, fine, but don't wait too log. Married life is borning, so I plan to live vicariously through you."

Felicity shook her head. "You do realize you're not getting a play-by-play, right?"

"Whatever you say," Lydia returned lightly. "Shit. Larry's home. I gotta go! Remember – no sequins! "Okay, okay. I'll talk to you later."

 

* * *

 

Oliver was headed toward the bus when he spotted the woman that he'd knocked into in front of the dojo ambling down one of the many alleys that trickled off the main road. They were notoriously hot beds of crime, and sure enough he saw a large man with what looked like a knife walk out of the shadows and corner her. He was off in a second, bounding down the alley, but then he stopped, crouching behind a large trash bin.

The small mousy girl from before had twisted the guy's wrist with the knife in a manner that suggested practice, and a second later she landed a fist square in his nose. This was more than a few self defense classes, and Oliver watched curiously, prepared to jump in if needed, but also interested in seeing just how trained this seemingly average woman was.

The guy grunted as she spun into a perfect roundhouse kick, heel connecting soundly with his chest. He staggered backwards into the brick wall of a neighboring building, but she wasn't' done. She'd picked up a jagged piece of pipe and swung it at his jaw. Oliver could hear the bones crack even from his crouched position.

Fight over and won, Carrie continued down the alley, whistling some tune as she walked from her assailant's prone body.

 

Oliver went straight to the foundry. He'd called Digg and Felicity on his way and both were waiting for him. Felicity swiveled in her chair to face him as he described what happened.

"Maybe she's a wayward member of the League of Assassins?" Felicity offered. "I mean, she wouldn't be the first."

"I don't think so," Oliver said. "I have her name. Can you run some background checks?"

"Is that even a valid question?" she retorted, swiveling back toward her computer. She laced her fingers and stretched them in front of her, the joints cracking softly. "Name please."

"Carrie Cutter," he said, remembering the last name from the missing cat signs.

Felicity typed away furiously at her computer, easily pulling up a driver's license, which showed Carrie to hail from New Mexico.

"What's she doing here, then?" Digg mused.

"She served in the army," Felicity read aloud. "There's a tour in Afghanistan and then two more in Iraq."

"That would explain her fighting skills," Oliver said.

"Ah, and things are getting interesting," Felicity said, pulling up a story from one of the local papers detailing the mysterious disappearance of a Daniel Cutter. The article spoke of the rampant affair Daniel had been wrapped up in before his disappearance. "There's definitely the suggestion of foul play. It says that the affair started when Carrie was overseas. She came back and he had moved out of the house."

"Look into her military files," he said. "There was something off about her. I can't put my finger on what it was but…something was definitely off."

"Okay," Felicity said, drawing out the word. "This will just…" she typed quickly, biting her bottom lip, "…take me a few – and we're in!"

There, on the screen, was the entirety of Carrie Cutter's military career. It described in detail the rising star of a special op-soldier – one praised by peers and superiors alike – and then the meteoric fall as the strain of operations eroded both her mental and physical health.

The last few files were sealed, but after a few clever key strokes Felicity was able to sneak in.

"She underwent experiments through something called Cobalt," Felicity read. Not having the slightest clue what that meant, she turned to Oliver and Digg. "Ring any bells?"

"I've heard of it," Digg said, crossing his arms over his chest. "I mean, we all did. But we thought it was an urban legend."

"What is it?" Oliver asked.

"From what I heard, the Cobalt experiments were designed to craft the perfect soldiers. It increased stamina and endurance while eradicating fear entirely. The end goal was physically exceptional soldiers without fear or apprehension. There were side effects, though – mostly mental. Love, lust, and greed were magnified to the extent that they overrode all semblance of reason. In the worst cases, soldiers went insane. But again, these were all rumors. We always thought they were stories to make sure we didn't mess up on operations. It was like – do your job well otherwise they'll send you to Cobalt."

"It says here that she became mentally imbalanced after the experiments," Felicity said, reading further into the file. "There's mention of admitting her to a psychiatric hospital, but that's it."

"It was probably a military hospital," Digg said.

"Do we think she escaped from there?" Oliver asked.

"Maybe," Digg said, shrugging. "Either way, she's dangerous. I'd be careful around her, Oliver."

"So, what are we going to do?" Felicity asked.

"Nothing," Oliver said simply. "I mean, it's not like she's hurt anyone."

"What about her husband?"

"We don't know that she had anything to do with that," he said. "I think for now we should just keep any eye out for anything unusual."

* * *

 

Carrie Cutter sat in her car outside of Verdant, calmly staring at the back entrance as she waited for Oliver Queen to emerge. She knew he was in there, because she'd followed him to the club and watched him walk in through the back. She liked that he had some business at the club along with his job at the dojo. It showed he was industrious. He was keeping busy, unlike her ass hole ex-husband who apparently spent all his free time when she was in Iraq screwing one of his grad students. That's what happened when men weren't busy. They strayed.

But Oliver wouldn't do that. She could already tell that he was a man of honor, and since the moment she kneeled in front of her husband's dead body, his mouth open and pressed against the plastic bag she'd suffocated him with, she swore she would only love honorable men.

Oliver walked out of Verdant and she leaned forward slightly, lips parting as she watched him come to a halt and glance behind him. A blonde woman followed, perky blonde ponytail dancing between her shoulder blades. Oliver said something and the woman made a face, gesturing sharply with her hand and he laughed, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. They headed off together, gait perfectly in synch.

Carrie narrowed her eyes. Well, this wouldn't do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear your thoughts!


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

It was the night of Felicity and Mike's date, and Felicity was busy in her room getting ready for the big event. Her last date was so long ago that she could barely remember it. He'd been some Jewish guy she'd known from Las Vegas, and he called her up when he was in Starling City for business. They had a nice dinner, kissed a little, but it didn't lead to anything. He had to leave three days later and, if she were being completely honest, she didn't really begrudge that fact. She'd liked having someone to be with for a few hours, but she never saw it as anything more.

She was excited about this date, though. Mike had surprised her, and she was both excited and nervous to see how the night would play out. She stood in front of her closet, feeling completely overwhelmed by the maelstrom of clothing in front of her. Dressing up had always come naturally to her – she barely thought about what to wear for work – but something about tonight made her anxious. While she knew it was irrational to think that an outfit would make any ounce of difference for the date, she still found herself overanalyzing the choice.

Teeth pulling at her bottom lip, she made a decision and turned back toward her bed, picking up her phone. She dialed Lydia, who answered after a record one ring. Usually it took her at least three.

"You need help on an outfit, don't you?" Lydia asked knowingly.

"Ah, so that's why you answered so quickly," Felicity said with a grin, turning back to her packed closet. "Were you just waiting by your phone for the distress signal?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. I was. I can tell you really like this guy, and that means you're probably about halfway to a freak out right now."

Felicity exhaled loudly. "I won't deny that."

"So, do you at least have some options for me?"

Felicity frowned, thinking that maybe she should have at least tried to pick out a few dresses before calling in the reinforcements. Lydia read into the pause and said, "Alright, this requires the big guns. Hang up and call me on Skype. I need eyes on the situation."

"Alright. Give me one minute."

Felicity hung up and walked outside into the living room for her computer. She was surprised to see Oliver on the couch, watching some show about sharks on Animal Planet. He glanced up at her and passed a casual greeting, hand stuffed in a large bowl of popcorn.

"What are you doing here?" she stammered. "I thought you were working."

"That's tomorrow night," Oliver returned easily.

"No. You told me it was tonight," Felicity pressed. "As in Friday. Tonight."

Oliver shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you. I work tomorrow night, not tonight."

She stood there for a moment, wondering how she could work out Mike picking her up at the apartment without him having to interact with Oliver. The latter man in this thought process noticed her still standing there and asked, "Do you have a problem with me being here tonight?"

"No, not at all," she returned automatically. Why would she have a problem with her very attractive roommate who she occasionally had non-platonic feelings for hanging around when she had a date? What could possibly be wrong about that?

"So, it doesn't have something to do with your date?" Oliver asked casually, popping a few pieces of popcorn in his mouth. Felicity narrowed her eyes.

"No. It has absolutely nothing to do with that."

"You're staying close, right?" he asked. "Because, you know, if duty calls…"

Something about the way he said that made her irritation spike, and she said, "Duty won't call. It can take a night off."

"I'm just saying, if it comes down to Arrow business or a date-"

"It can take a night off," she returned tersely. "Look, I don't get a lot of chances to just do stuff for me, okay? I'm always at Queen Consolidated with you. Or in the foundry with Digg _and you_. But tonight is not about you. Or about Queen Consolidated. Or the Hood! Tonight is about me. And, for the love of God, I deserve _one night_ that is just about me."

"I guess we can go one night without you," Oliver said after a moment, reluctance clear in his voice.

"Yes, you can. Now, I …" she took a moment to remember why exactly she'd even gone out there, and then she remembered her computer and how Lydia was waiting for her call, "…need to go get ready. Carry on watching your shark show."

She grabbed her laptop and hurried back in her room, breathing returning to normal when she safely shut the door between her and Oliver. She opened up the laptop and logged into Skype. A moment later she had called Lydia and her friend immediately asked what the hell had taken her so long.

"I thought your closet ate you or something."

"No," Felicity returned. "I, uh, was arguing with Oliver. Who, apparently, is not working tonight."

Lydia grinned wide. "Oh, this is going to be good. I can't wait to hear what happens. Actually, even better, why don't you just call me on here and I'll listen in on it all."

Felicity rolled her eyes. "Not happening."

"What was he saying?"

Felicity paused, unable to tell Lydia the actual content of their conversation, but needing something tell her. "He just, uh, was giving me a hard time. It's nothing major."

"I cannot wait for the moment he finally realizes how in love with you he is. It will be a glorious day."

"Ha ha," Felicity returned drily. "Now, can we get back to picking out a dress? I don't care about Oliver right now."

"Okay, okay, start parading those dresses in front of your screen. As always, expect full honesty."

Felicity smirked. "Since when have I expected any less than that with you?"

"Fair point," Lydia conceded as Felicity walked over to the closet and pulled out the first dress. It was a pale pink shift with beading around the high collar. She showed it to Lydia, who immediately shook her head.

"That is an awful color. Why do you even own that?"

"It looks nice in person," Felicity argued, holding it against her body.

"Don't even try to pull that bol shit with me," Lydia returned immediately. "Next dress."

Felicity dropped the dress on her bed – she'd need to reevaluate owning it if the color was really that awful – and went back to the closet for the next pick. She pulled out one of her glitzier work dresses. It was a deep purple with a wide cutout on the back. She showed it to Lydia, turning the dress so she'd see the detail on the back. Lydia nodded appreciatively.

"I don't hate it. Put it to the side."

Felicity felt infinitely less anxious having one potential Lydia-approved outfit. She went back to the closet and rifled through a few dresses before pulling out a black dress with silver thread running through it. She'd bought it impulsively while shopping one weekend, but had never worn it. The neckline dipped lower than she usually wore, and she hadn't found an occasion yet that warranted the deep plunge.

"Oh yes, that's a dress to get you laid," Lydia said, nodding up and down. "Wear that. I don't need to see anything else. That's the one."

"Really?"

"It's probably the closest thing you have to slutty," Lydia said. She was right. "So, wear it. Mike will flip. Oliver, too."

"I don't care about Oliver," Felicity said reflexively.

"Of course you don't," Lydia returned with a wink. "Now, let's talk makeup. None of your bright lipsticks. You do a smoky eye and pale lip. It'll go perfectly with the dress."

"Agreed," Felicity said. Besides, she liked to shake up her makeup routine a bit when she went out.

"I'd definitely wear your hair down, too. Nothing makes men go more crazy than hair down."

Felicity laughed at that. Lydia always came up with the strangest things, but said them with absolute conviction.

"Alright, I'll consider it. I probably should get dressed now. He'll be here in twenty minutes."

"Cutting it pretty close, Smoak," Lydia said. Sensing her friend's anxiety, she told her, "Don't worry, he'd be an idiot not to fall for you in flannel pajamas. You're one of the good ones, Felicity. Don't forget that in all your dating mania."

Felicity smiled a bit. "Thanks, Lyd. I'll call you tomorrow."

She hung up and set to getting to work on her hair and makeup. All the while her dress laid nicely on her bed, still on the hanger. She didn't even realize how late she was actually running until she heard a knock on the door.

"Shit," she muttered, quickly swiping mascara on her lashes. She could hear Oliver get up off of the couch and called out, "I'll get it!"

"I've got it," he called back. "Besides, I'm closer."

She glanced in the mirror, a pinched expression staring back at her. She could hear the door open and Oliver say, "Hello Yoga Mike. It's nice to see you again."

"Shit, shit, shit," she muttered, quickly stripping off her sweatpants and tank top and slipping into the dress. The deep neckline went a bit too much to the right and she adjusted it, making sure that it laid correctly. A quick final glance in the mirror, and then Felicity was rushing out of her room and out to where Mike and Oliver were engaged in a conversation that looked much too comfortable for Felicity's liking.

"Biaggi's is a great place," Oliver said, commenting on their choice of restaurant for dinner. "Great food. Really great bread basket." He glanced at Felicity, eyes lingering for just a moment too long on her bare décolletage. "You'll love the focaccia breadsticks."

"I do love my focaccia," she returned, her cheeks blushing as Oliver eyes roved down her frame. It wasn't an uncomfortable look on his part. If anything she liked it maybe a little too much, and she cleared her throat to cover the silence that had fallen between the three of them.

"You look beautiful," Oliver noted softly. "I've never seen that dress before."

"It's new," she practically squeaked, nerves pulled so tight that she felt as if her skin would burst. "Well, new-ish. I just haven't had an occasion to wear it. Until tonight, because tonight's a date, and this dress is, uh, pretty date-ish. So…yeah."

Oliver nodded, eyes locking with hers. The blood rushed back to her cheeks and she could feel her heart rate quicken, the pounding in her ears loud like a drum. She all but forgot about Mike there next to her until he laid a hand on her arm and said, "We should probably go. Our reservations are at 7:15."

"Right," Felicity stammered, pulling her gaze away from Oliver. "We can go."

"You two have a nice dinner," Oliver said.

Halfway out the door Felicity realized she'd forgotten her purse. When she turned back Oliver was already there with her small silver clutch in his hand. He held it out to her and as she took it their hands brushed. She pulled back quickly, wanting nothing more than to get out of the apartment and away from Oliver and everything that seemed to be happening inside of her.

"Bye Oliver," she murmured, hurrying out to Mike.

 

* * *

 

Oliver went to the foundry that night, wanting something to distract him. He was surprised to find Digg there. They hadn't had any definite plans to meet, and when Oliver asked what his friend was doing there he blamed it on Lyla's hormones.

"She literally threw me out of the apartment. Apparently, I'm not good with dealing with her mood swings. Which is surprising considering how well I've handled all of yours over the years."

Oliver smirked. "You'll learn. I'd recommend starting with some ice cream. If pop culture has taught me anything, it's that most hormonal things can be treated with ice cream."

"Lyla's lactose intolerant."

Oliver sighed. "Well, then I'm flat out of ideas."

"So, what are you doing here? Is there some case I'm not aware of?"

Oliver shook his head. "No, I just have a lot of pent up energy right now. Figured I'd put it to use."

Digg was quiet for a momet and then said, "Hey, Felicity's date was tonight, wasn't it?"

Oliver played nonchalant, shrugging and retorting, "Yeah, why?"

"It's some guy from her yoga class, right?" Oliver nodded. "Talk about random. But I guess that's how it works."

"How what works?"

"Relationships," Digg said. "You meet somewhere. You get along. Things progress from there."

"Who said anything about progression? It's just a date."

Digg could feel Oliver's discomfort with the entire Felicity-dating-situation clearly, and while on another night he would have pushed it, he had enough of an emotional flare from Lyla earlier that day. He'd let this lie for the night.

"Have you seen that Carrie girl anymore?" Digg asked, changing the subject to more Hood related topics. He expected Oliver to relax at the shop talk, and sure enough he was right.

"She's been lurking around the dojo," Oliver admitted. He hadn't thought much of it, though, and told Digg that.

"Isn't it a little weird, though? The lurking?"

"Sure it is," Oliver said. "But she's not doing anything."

"I think some people would call it stalking," Digg offered.

"She's not hurting anyone," Oliver reasoned. "Besides, it's not like she's hanging around Felicity's place or anything."

"I'm just saying you should be careful," Digg said. "The dojo could just be the start of it. I mean, with the stuff she was on. She's not right."

"I'll watch the situation closely," Oliver assured him. "But, I'm telling you. There's nothing to worry about."

The police blotter they kept in the foundry went off, and the men listened as an armed robbery was reported down near the glades. Digg glanced over at Oliver and raised an eyebrow. Standing up, Oliver swung his arms out in front of him and gamely said, "Duty calls, after all."

 

* * *

 

One hour and three breadsticks into her date, Felicity was having a wonderful time. The rapport between her and Mike was steadily growing, and she could feel something building that, while it wasn't entirely romantic, it wasn't entirely platonic, either. He was funny and nice, and he made her forget about vigilantes and criminals.

She'd forgotten what it was like to be an actual active member of normal society. There were no flying arrows or kidnappers. It was easy. It was nice. It was something she hadn't realized she missed until she had it again, and she wondered how she had gone that long without it.

Everything was fine until her phone rang. It was Oliver, and she almost didn't answer. Part of her was convinced he was calling with some stupid duty-calls-nonsense, but she answered anyway. Because it was Oliver, and for better or worse, she would always answer when he called.

"This better be good, Oliver," Felicity hissed. She'd stepped off to the side of the restaurant and she watched Mike sit quietly at their table, blithely sipping away at his wine without the slightest clue as to who had actually called. She'd lied and said it was her mother.

"Felicity, it's Digg."

Her stomach dropped. Why was Digg on Oliver's phone? There were many possibilities, most of them not good.

"What happened?" she asked immediately.

"Oliver went out after an armed robbery," he explained quickly. "There was a guy that he didn't see. He had a gun –"

"I'll be right there," Felicity said immediately, her mouth going dry. "Just…tell him I'm on my way, okay?"

"Okay. I'll see you soon."

She rushed back to the table, but told herself to calm down before Mike saw her. Oliver was fine. He had to be. Digg would have told her otherwise.

"I, um, think I need to head back home," she said, wincing at how awful the lie was already. She wasn't even halfway into it and she didn't believe herself. "I'm feeling a migraine coming on, and when I get them they're just…" she made a sort of vague hand gesture, "…so, I really should get home."

"Okay, sure," Mike said, completely understanding and making Felicity feel more like an awful person for it. He was just so nice, and here she was lying straight through her teeth.

They paid the bill and then he drove her back home, walking her back into the apartment and telling her to get some rest. She watched him drive away from her front window before quickly running out to her own car. In her haste she didn't notice the person sitting in the back of her car. It wasn't until a knife blade was pressed against her windpipe and a female voice told her to drive that she saw just how much worse the night was about to get.


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Felicity didn't like flowers. She never had. The smell reminded her of funerals, and death, and her one grandmother who always made her sit as a child in an overly ornate living room and look at old family albums. There always was a tray of over-baked cookies, too, and she'd eat at least one to be polite.

There were flowers in this room. Several vases, in fact, scattered all across the room in a manner that hinted at neither a reason nor a rhyme. There were roses, and carnations, and these really large flowers that Felicity didn't know the name of, but she'd seen them before. Their perfume hung in the air. It was sickly sweet, and she winced as she drew air through her nose.

Her head stung, and she struggled to remember how that had happened. But then she realized that she was seated in a chair with her wrists tied behind her and ankles tied to the legs of the chair, and it became very clear that what happened to her head was the least of her worries. A memory reached out to her, slippery and indefinite, but she took what she could.

There was a car. Her car. She'd been driving somewhere. Where was she driving? She couldn't remember, but she could feel the palpable fear. It pulsed through her veins like blood, and then a plan. No, not a plan, it was too sudden for a plan.

A vivid memory came to her then. She'd been driving into the Glades, a knife blade pressed against her windpipe, and she'd thrown the car to the side in an attempt to get the blade away from her long enough that she could run from the car. But that hadn't worked.

"You're up," Carrie said, pulling Felicity from her memory. "You know, I was surprised I knocked you out."

"The blunt edge of a knife tends to do that," Felicity bit out. It was all coming back to her now. The squeal of breaks as she stopped at the side of the road, struggling with her seatbelt to get out of the car. The sound of movement behind her, the sharp pain as the knife's handle drove into the side of her head, and then darkness.

"I didn't even hit you that hard," Carrie murmured, walking slowly past Felicity. "It was barely a tap."

"You might want to take another look at your definition of tap," Felicity muttered.

"See, this is why you're not good enough for him," Carrie said. She moved quickly to face Felicity and dropped into a crouched position in front of her. "You're weak. He deserves someone strong and capable. Someone as magnificent as him."

"Believe me, he's not always that magnificent. You should see him play Scrabble," Felicity returned.

"Joke all you want," Carrie said, pushing back onto her heels and standing up. "But that's only because you're in denial. You hang around him, thinking he could love you. Thinking that he could ever see you as more than the IT girl with the silly crush." She paused, reveling in the brief flash of agitation that registered on Felicity's face at that. "Yes, I know who you are, Felicity Smoak. I know all about you. I know that you graduated from MIT top of your class, but ended up on the bottom of the corporate IT food chain, asking people with half your education if they've tried turning it off and on. I know that your mother lives on 2134 Gentry Lane, Las Vegas, Nevada and that your greatest fear is ending up back there. And I know that you are in love with Oliver Queen, despite the logical conclusion that he will never, ever return those feelings."

"Go to hell," Felicity spat.

Carrie clicked her tongue. "Better get a hold of those emotions, Felicity. No one likes an outburst."

"Why did you kidnap me?"

Carrie laughed. The sound was hollow. "Well, isn't it obvious? You are a danger to Oliver. Your…mediocrity…it's something that cannot be tolerated. So, I'm saving him from it."

"Excuse me?"

"He needs a strong woman by his side. Someone who understands him and can help him. You obviously don't fit that bill-"

"Oh, and you do?" Felicity returned defiantly. "I hate to break it to you, but you're freaking insane."

Carrie grinned. "That's just the mediocrity talking. Now…" she walked around behind Felicity, and she heard some rustling, "…I'm not going to kill you right away. Because, what fun would that be? I thought first, I'd give you a little parting gift."

Felicity swallowed hard. "Any chance that parting gift is a reconsideration of the whole killing me thing?"

Carrie walked back in front of her, a small paring knife in her hand. "No, but I think you'll like this even more."

She reached up and tugged the neckline of her shirt down just enough so that Felicity could see a crude tattoo on her décolletage. It was a heart. And it was clearly done with a knife.

"No, I want the other thing. Definitely want the other thing."

"Now, which side do you prefer?" Carrie said, walking toward her. Felicity flinched, wanting very much to be far away from that blade. "Left or right? I personally prefer the left, because that's wear your actual heart is. But, to each their own."

Felicity couldn't respond. Being tied up on that chair with a crazy woman looming above her with a knife, it occurred to Felicity for the first time that Oliver was severely wounded from a patrol at the foundry, and neither him or Digg knew she was missing.

They weren't coming. They couldn't be, not this quickly and with no notice. Fear gripped her chest and she found it difficult to swallow, difficult to breathe. It was difficult to do just about anything, but she reminded herself inwardly that she could get through this. Despite Carrie's ovations to the contrary, she was not mediocre. She was smart and brave, and she could get herself out of this. She just needed time.

"I think we should go right," Carrie said. "It's different."

She leaned forward, knife coming toward Felicity's chest.

"You're doing this all wrong," Felicity said loudly, pushing back against the chair as Carrie loomed above her. She had a half-baked plan, and she only hoped Carrie would take a step back from her work as a makeshift tattoo artist to let it play out.

To her relief, Carrie paused.

"What do you mean I'm doing this all wrong?" Carrie asked, voice wavering between apathy and a slight edge of anger.

"You're the smart one, aren't you? You're the one who's so worthy of Oliver?"

"Yes, I am."

"Then how did you not think of it?" Felicity said, still trying to work through exactly what  _it_ was. She suspected from what Carrie had been saying before that she'd be distracted by her own self worth being called into question. Tip her off that she was missing something that even someone like Felicity could locate, and she'd play right into Felicity's hand.

"Think of what?" Carrie asked, voice going shrill. "Think of  _what_?!"

And then Felicity had it.

"You're missing a golden opportunity to show Oliver just how pathetic I am," Felicity said. "If you kill me, all you'll do is make him mourn me. Make him care. Because people always care after someone dies. They could have hated them in life, but in death…only the good attributes remain. Bring him here and let him see the real me. Think how much better you'll look to him next to me. How much stronger you'll look. How much smarter."

Carrie had been nodding slowly, following along as Felicity spoke, and she began to nod quicker and said, "Yes. You're right. Death is too easy. Let him see what a low specimen of humanity you are, and then he can kill you himself."

Content with her new plan, Carrie stepped around Felicity and put the knife back on the table. She bounded off into the rest of the house and Felicity relaxed against the chair, thinking just how close she'd gotten to a knife in her chest.

* * *

"I'm surprised she's not here yet," Digg said, putting the last bit of surgical tape on the gauze wrapped around Oliver's torso. He'd gotten the bullet out, and while it had been difficult to staunch the bleeding, he was eventually able to get it under control and stitch up the wound. Oliver lowered his arms and winced as the gauze shifted over the wound.

"She's probably still on her date," Oliver said. "She was pretty adamant about not being disturbed."

"No, she was coming, Oliver," Digg said. "You should have heard her on the phone. She was concerned."

"Maybe there was traffic."

"I called her forty minutes ago. She should have been here by now."

Oliver leaned against the desk, crossing his arms loosely in front of his chest. "Do you think something happened to her?"

"Probably not," Digg admitted. "But maybe. She should be here, Oliver. She might talk a lot of game, but she's always here for you when you need her."

Oliver's phone rang and he picked it up from the table, eyebrows furrowing in confusion when he saw the number.

"Who is it?" Digg asked.

"I don't know. It's coming up as unknown." He clicked into the phone call. "Hello?"

"Oliver, hi. It's Carrie."

Oliver froze. How did she even have his number?

"Hi Carrie," Oliver said, eyes meeting Digg's, who immediately went off toward the weapon closet. "What can I do for you?"

"I have something for you. At my apartment. I know you're probably busy, but-"

"What's your address?" he asked immediately. He had a sneaking feeling that what she had for him was in fact Felicity, and he wanted to get there as soon as possible. Carrie prattled off her address and he wrote it down, glancing back at Digg who already had assembled a good pile of weapons for the rescue mission.

"I'm leaving now," he told her.

"I'll be waiting."

Oliver hung up and Digg said, "Remember when I told you she was a threat?"

Oliver frowned. "You can tell me I told you so after we get Felicity back."

* * *

Felicity wished she were dead. Honestly, that would have been better than sitting with Carrie and listening to the loon go on and on about how perfect she was for Oliver, and how happy their future was going to be. Felicity had been privy to a day dream or two, but this was at an entirely different level.

"We just compliment each other," Carrie said. She was sitting on the ground in front of Felicity, legs splayed out in front and resting back on her hands. She tilted her head to the side. "It's like I saw him, and I  _knew_. And he did, too. I could totally tell. We had this, like, connection, you know?"

She looked up at Felicity for affirmation and Felicity nodded, saying, "I definitely know. Cosmic, right?"

She was mocking her, but Carrie didn't notice.

"Yes! It was cosmic! Like, we were put on this Earth to meet. That's our sole purpose. To meet each other and fall in love. It's just…it's unbelievable, but so  _right_."

"It's like you looked in his eyes. And he looked into yours. But really, it was like he was looking into your soul."

The level of sarcasm was so high that Felicity almost expected it to be met with a flying knife, but Carrie only nodded fervently.

"See, I knew you understood. I knew you saw we were perfect for each other." She paused, eyes travelling over Felicity's face. "You know, I'm almost sad that I have to kill you now."

"Well, better to be remorseful now than never," Felicity grumbled.

There was a knock on the door and Carrie's eyes went wide as she breathed out, "That's him! It has to be him!"

"You betcha," Felicity returned. "You better go open that door." As Carrie bounded off toward the door Felicity added under her breath, "So I can get the hell out of here."

Carrie opened the door, and Felicity had never been so happy to see Oliver Queen standing in the doorway, wearing a casual getup and hands tucked in the pockets of his jeans. She couldn't see any visible injury on him, but when he walked forward she noticed that his movements were careful. She hoped Digg was hiding somewhere, because if they had to fight their way out of this – which was likely – Oliver wouldn't be able to do much without ripping the stitches that were surely under his shirt.

He glanced at her as he walked in, eyes asking if she was alright. She nodded, and he returned his attention to Carrie.

"So, what do you have for me?"

Carrie was practically shaking with excitement as she took a hold of his arm and pulled him further into the room. She gestured grandly toward Felicity and went, "Tada! Do you like it?"

"What is she doing here?" Oliver asked carefully.

"I brought her for you. To show you how good I am for you. I'm singlehandedly taking care of things that aren't good for you. Things that you might not even realize aren't good for you. I mean, she looks innocent enough, right?"

"Yeah, she does," Oliver murmured, gaze meeting Felicity's and lingering for a moment.

"But, she's not! She's not innocent! She's been scheming to have you all this time, but she can't. You are mine. You have always been mine. I love you, Oliver, and now I can prove it. By killing her – " Carrie walked quickly over to the table behind Felicity and brandished the knife from before, " – I can prove just how much I love you."

Carrie pressed the knife against Felicity's neck. Felicity cried out in surprise, but then forced her eyes closed, pressing her lips together. She wouldn't give Carrie the satisfaction of another emotional display.

"I don't want you to kill her," Oliver said. "Because I want to do it."

Felicity's eyes popped open. Sure, what Oliver said was demonstrably good for Felicity, but still, he wanted to be the one to kill her? Wasn't there a way to get out of this without someone threatening to kill her?

Carrie nearly shook with excitement and she said, "You do?"

"I do," he said, taking the knife from Carrie's hand and walking over to Felicity. He carefully cut her restraints, all the while saying, "For years I've had to put up with her pining after me. It was so annoying, playing into her fantasy."

He moved in front of her to cut the ropes around her ankles and he glanced up, nodding slightly as he freed her from the chair. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her up.

"This is something I want to do myself," he said, fingers pressing into her skin. "I need to do it myself."

Carrie grinned wide, her chin dipping down as she nodded. Oliver's fingers dug deeper into Felicity's arms, and she wondered just what his next step was in this plan.

Just then something caught Carrie's attention by the front window and her eyes darkened, cheeks sucking in as she turned her gaze entirely on Oliver and hissed, "Did you come alone?"

"Of course I did."

"Oh really? Then who the hell is standing by my front door right now?" she threw back angrily. Felicity could see her grip on the knife tighten.

"There's no one there. It's just me."

"Don't lie to me!" she yelled, throwing the knife toward them. Oliver pulled both him and Felicity to the side quickly, narrowly missing the blade. It drove itself into the wall.

Oliver threw himself toward her, clearly thinking the time for conversation was over, but she easily dodged him. The door flew open and Digg burst into the room, gun at the ready. He gestured toward Felicity and said, "Get out of here."

"You're weak just like her," Carrie spat toward Oliver. Spotting Felicity make her escape, she pulled a slim needle that was holding up her hair and hurled it toward Felicity. It lodged itself in Felicity's arm and she cried out, staggering just enough for Carrie to launch herself toward her and take her down. She tore the needle from Felicity's arm and was poised to bring it down into her neck when Digg grabbed her from behind, pulling her off of Felicity.

Felicity stayed there on the ground for a moment, breathing heavily as she still saw the needle coming down toward her neck. But then Oliver was there, and he was gently sliding his hand under her neck as he helped her up. Behind him Digg had Carrie down on the floor, and he was securing her wrists with some wire.

"Are you okay?" Oliver asked. He reached up and touched the crusted blood at her hairline. It was where Carrie had rammed the handle of the knife into her head, and it stung at his touch.

"I'm fine." Remembering that he had a gunshot wound somewhere, she touched his chest and murmured, "What about you? Your gunshot wound –"

"I'm fine," he assured her. "Digg stitched me up and everything."

Felicity nodded, bringing her hand to where the needle had dug into her arm. Blood stained her fingers. "And here I was thinking you getting shot would be the high point of the evening."

Oliver smirked and then glanced back at Digg. "Are you okay over there?"

"Everything's under control," Digg said. "How about you get Felicity in the car and then dial 911. We have a kidnapping to report."

* * *

Later that night, Oliver and Felicity sat in her living room, her nursing a cup of tea and him a rather large scotch. Carrie had been arrested a few hours earlier. She shouted obscenities at both of them as they walked away. Apparently Oliver's betrayal expunged any remnants of love she felt toward him, and she treated him with the same level of abhorrence as she did Felicity in the end.

"I'm sorry that this happened to you," Oliver said, eyes lingering on the bandage around Felicity's arm. "It's all my fault."

"You had a crazy stalker. It happens."

Truth was, it didn't really happen that often, but in their line of work it was almost a refreshingly normal occurrence. Sure, she'd been kidnapped by a former solider souped up on some government juju, but it technically wasn't Hood related. That had to count for something.

"I should have sensed something was off," he continued, shaking his head. "I mean, I was around her. I knew her background."

"You saw the good in someone," Felicity returned softly, wrapping her hands around her mug. "That's not something to apologize for."

"But if something had happened to you…" Oliver trailed off, shaking his head before taking a large gulp of his scotch. She knew what he was hedging at. It was the same exact way she would have felt if something involving her resulted in him being hurt.

"Nothing happened," she reminded him.

"Only because she called. If she hadn't, I would have had no idea she had you."

"I know," Felicity agreed, nodding. "That's why I convinced her to call you."

Oliver looked toward her in surprise. She hadn't told him about her role in the call.

"I suggested that she let you see how pathetic I was in person," she told him. "Of course, since I made the suggestion she adopted it as her own and followed it. Voila."

"You're not pathetic," Oliver said, voice serious. "Not even close."

She smiled slightly. "I know, but that's how she saw me. She thought I was this mediocre, pathetic person, and I used it against her."

He nodded, seeming to be caught up in some string of thoughts. She sipped on her tea, waiting for what he would say next.

"What I said in there, about you pining after me and all of that, you know that was just for show, right? I had to make her think I agreed with her."

"I know," Felicity said. While it had been difficult to hear him say those things, she knew it was necessary. Carrie would have seen through him, otherwise.

Oliver nodded, clearing his throat. "Uh, good. I just wanted to, um, clear that up."

"All clear – crystal, in fact."

"Good."

She glanced over at his drink, he'd gotten about half of it down by this point, and said, "I don't know how you drink that stuff. It's like toilet cleaner."

Oliver smirked. "Drink a lot of toilet cleaner, do you?"

"I'm just saying, it's gross. Why would you choose to drink something that tastes so…not good."

"I like how it tastes. Just like how you probably like how that gross looking tea tastes."

"It's chamomile. How is it gross looking?"

"It looks like pee," he deadpanned.

"It does not!"

Olive shrugged and mimicked what she'd said before, "I'm just saying, it's gross."

She laughed, but then sobered herself to return with, "I think we should agree to disagree on our drink choice."

Oliver nodded solemnly. "That's probably a good idea."

They sat together in silence for a moment, sipping on their respective drinks. She thought about how only a few hours ago she'd nearly died, and he thought about how only a few hours ago he'd nearly lost her. For both, the thought was incomprehensible.


End file.
